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L O C E I N E : 



A TRAGEDY. 



By ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 



NEW YORK : 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER, 

1887. 



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DEDICATION. 

TO ALICE SWINBURNE. 



The love that comes and goes like wind or fire 

Hath words and wings wherewith to speak and flee. 
But love more deep than passion's deep desire, 
Clear and inviolable as the unsounded sea, 
What wings of Avords may serve to set it free, 
To lift and lead it homeward ? Time and death 
Are less than love : or man's live spirit saith 
False, when he deems his life is more than breath. 

II. 

No words may utter love ; no sovereign song 

Speak all it would for love's sake. Yet would I 
Fain cast in moulded rhymes that do me wrong 
Some little part of all my love : but why 
Should weak and wingless words be fain to fly? 
For us the years that live not are not dead: 
Past days and present in our hearts are wed : 
My song can say no more than love hath said. 

III. 
Love needs nor song nor speech to say what love 

Would speak or sing, were speech and song not weak 
To bear the sense-belated soul above 

And bid the lips of silence breathe and speak. 

Nor power nor will has love to find or seek 
Words mdiscoverable, ampler strains of song 
Than ever hailed him fan or showed him strong: 
And less than these should do him worse than wrong. 



LOCRINE. 

IV. 

We who remember not a day wherein 

We have not loved each other — who can see 

No time, since time bade first our days begin, 
Within the sweep of memory's wings, when we 
Have known not what each other's love must be- 

We are well content to know it, and rest on this, 

And call not words to witness that it is. 

To love aloud is oft to love amiss. 



But if the gracious witness borne of words 
Take not from speechless love the secret grace 

That binds it round with silence, and engirds 

Its heart with memories fair as heaven's own face, 
Let love take courage for a little space 

To speak and be rebuked not of the soul. 

Whose utterance, ere the unwitting speech be whole, 

Rebukes itself, and craves again control. 

VI. 

A ninefold garland wrought of song-flowers nine. 

Wound each with each in chance-inwoven accord, 
Here at your feet I lay as on a shrine 

Whereof the holiest love that lives is lord. 
With faint, strange hues their leaves are freaked and scored: 
The fabled-flowering land wherein they grew 
Hath dreams for stars and gray romance for dew : 
Perchance no flower thence plucked may flower anew. 

VII. 

No part have these wan legends in the sun 

Whose glory lightens Greece and gleams on Rome, 

Their elders live : but these — their day is done. 
Their records written of the wind in foam 
Fly down the wmd, and darkness takes them home. 



LOCRINE. 

What Homer saw, what Virgil dreamed, was truth, 
Aud dies not, being divine ; but whence, in sooth. 
Might shades that never lived win deathless youth? 

VIII. 

The fields of fable, by the feet of faith 

Untrodden, bloom not where such deep mist drives. 
Dead fancy's ghost, not living fancy's wraith, 
Is now the storied sorrow that survives 
Faith in the record of these lifeless lives. 
Yet Milton's sacred feet have lingered there, 
His lips have made august the fabulous air, 
His hands have touched and left the wild weeds fair. 

IX. 

So, in some void and thought-untrammelled hour, 

Let these find grace, my sister, in your sight, 
Whose glance but cast on casual things hath power 
To do the sun's work, bidding all be bright 
With comfort given of love : for love is light. 
Were all the world of song made mine to give, 
The best were yours of all its flowers that live : / 
Though least of all be this my gift, forgive. 

July, 1887. 



LOORINE. 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 

LoCRiNE, King of Britain. 
Camber, King of Wales, brother to Locrine. 
Mad AN, son to Locrine and Guendolen. 
Debon, Lord Chamberlain. 

Guendolen, Queen of Britain, cousin and wife to Locrine. 
EsTRiLD, a German princess, widow of the Scythian King Humber. 
Sabrina, daughter to Locrine and Estrild. 

Scene, Britain. 



ACT L 

Scene I. — Troynovant A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Guendolen and Madan. 

Guen, Child, hast thou looked upon thy grandsire dead? 

Mad, Ay, 

Guen, Then thou sawest our Britain's heart and head 
Death-stricken. Seemed not there my sire to thee 
More great than thine, or all men living ? We 
Stand shadows of the fathers we survive : 
Earth bears no more nor sees such births alive. 

Mad, Why, he was great of thews — and wise, thou say'st : 
Yet seems my sire to me the fairer-faced — 
The kinglier and the kindlier. 

Guen, Yea, his eyes 

Are liker seas that feel the summering skies 
In concord of sweet color — and his brow 
Shines gentler than my father's ever : thou 
So seeing, dost well to hold thy sire so dear. 

Mad, I said not that his love sat yet so near 
My heart as thine doth ; rather am I thine*, 
Thou knowest, than his. 

Guen. Nay — rather seems Locrine 



10 LOCRINE. 

Thy sire than I thy mother. 

Mad. Wherefore ? 

Guen, Boy, 

Because of all oar sires who fought for Troy 
Most like thy father and my lord Locrine, 
I think, was Paris. 

Mad. How may man divine 

Thy meaning ? Blunt am I, thou knowest, of wit ; 
And scare yet man — men tell me. 

Guen, Ask not it. 
I meant not that thou shouldst understand— I spake 
As one that sighs to ease her heart of ache, 
And would not clothe in words her cause for sighs — 
Her naked cause of sorrow. 

Mad. Wert thou wise. 
Mother, thy tongue had chosen of two things one — 
Silence or speech. v 

Guen. Speech had I chosen, my son, 
I had wronged thee — yea, perchance I have wronged thine ears 
Too far to say so much. 

Mad. Nay, these are tears 
That gather toward thine eyelids now. Thou hast broken 
Silence — ^if now thy speech lie down unspoken. 
Thou dost me wrong indeed ; but more than mine 
The wrong thou dost thyself is. 

Guen. And Locrine — 
Were not thy sire wronged likewise of me? 

Mad. Yea. 

Guen. Yet — I may choose yet — nothing will I say 
More. 

Mad. Choose, and have thy choice ; it galls not me. 

Guen. Son, son ! thy speech is bitterer than the sea. 

Mad. Yet, were the gulfs of hell not bitterer, thine 
Might match thy son's, who hast called my sire — Locrine — 
Thy lord, and lord of all this land — the king 
Whose name is bright and sweet as earth in spring, 
Whose love is mixed with Britain's very life 
As heaven with earth at sunrise — thou, his wife, 
Hast called him — and the poison of the word 
Set not thy tongue on fire — I lived and heard — 
Coward. 

Guen. Thou liest. 

Mad. If then thy speech rang true, 

Why, now it rings not false. 



LOCEINE. 11 

Qiien, Thou art treaclierous too — 

His lieart, thy father's very heart is thine — 
O, well beseems it, meet it is, Locrine, 
That liiir and traitor and changeling he should be 
Who, though I bare him, was begot by thee. 

Mad. How have I lied, mother ? Was this the lie, 
That thou didst call my father coward, and I 
Heard ? 

Guen, Nay — I did but liken him with one 
Not all unlike him; thou, my child, his son. I 

Art more unlike thy father. 

Mad, Was not then, 

Of all our fathers, all recorded men, 
The man w^hose name, thou sayest, is like his name — 
Paris — a sign in all men's mouths of shame ? ^ 

Gnen. Nay, save when heaven would cross him in the fight, 
He bare him, say the minstrels, as a knight — 
Yea, like thy father. 

Mad, Shame then were it none 

Though men should liken me to him ? 

Guen, My son, 

I had rather see thee — see thy brave bright head, 
Strong limbs, clear eyes — drop here before me dead. 

Mad, If he were true man, wherefore ? 

Guen, False was he ; 

No coward indeed, but faithless, trothless — we 
Hold therefore, as thou sayest, his princely name 
Unprincely — dead in honor — quick in shame. 

Mad, And his to mine thou likenest ? 

Guen, Thine ? to thine ? 

God rather strike thy life as dark as mine 
Than tarnish thus thine honor ! For to me 
Shameful it seems — I know not if it be — 
For men to lie, and smile, ^and swear, and lie, 
And bear the gods of heaven false witness. I 
Can hold not this but shameful. 

Mad, Thou dost well. 

I had liefer cast my soul alive to hell 
Than play a false man false. But were he true 
And I the traitor — then what heaven should do 
I wot not, but myself, being once awake 
Out of that treasonous trance, were fain to slake 
With all my blood the fire of shame wherein 
My soul should burn me living in my sin. 



1^ LOCRINE. 

Onen. Thy soul ? Yea, there — how knowest thou, boy, so 
well?— 
The fire is lit that feeds the fires of hell. 
Mine is aflame this long time now — but thine — 
Oh, how shall God forgive thee this, Locrine, 
That thou, for shame of these thy treasons done, 
Hast rent the soul in sunder of thy son ? 

Mad, My heart is whole yet, though thy speech be fire 
Whose flame lays hold upon it. Hath my sire 
Wronged thee ? 

Guen. Nay, child, I lied — -I did but rave— 

I jested — was my face, then, sad and grave. 
When most I jested with thee ? Child, my brain 
Is wearied, and my heart worn down with pain. 
I thought awhile, for very sorrow's sake. 
To play with sorrow — try thy spirit, and take 
Comfort — God knows I know not what I said, 
My father, whom I loved, being newly dead. 

Mad, I pray thee that thou jest with me no more thus. 

Guen, Dost thou now believe me ? 

Mad. No. 

Guen, I bore 

A brave man when I bore thee. 

Mad, I desire 

No more of laud or easing. Hath my sire 
Wronged thee ? 

Cuen, Never. But wilt thou trust me now? 

Mad. As trustful am I, mother of mine, as thou. 
Enter Locrine. 

Loc, The gods be good to thee ! How farest thou ? 

Guen, Well, 

Heaven hath no power to hurt me more, and hell 
No fire to fear. The world I dwelt in died 
With my dead father. King, thy world is wide 
Wherein thy soul rejoicingly puts trust ; 
But mine is strait, and built by death of dust. 

Loc. Thy sire, mine uncle, stood the sole man, then, 
That held thy life up happy ? Guendolen, 
Hast thou nor child nor husband — or are we 
Worth no remembrance more at ^11 of thee? 

Guen. Thy speech is sweet ; thine eyes are flowers that shine : 
If ever siren bare a son, Locrine, 
To reign m some green island and bear sway 
On shores more shining than the front of day 



LOCRIKE. 13 

And cliffs whose brightness dulls the morning's brow, 
That son of sorceries and of seas art thou. 

Loc, Nay, now thy tongue it is that plays on men ; 
And yet no siren's honey, Guendolen, 
Is this fair speech, though soft as breathes the south. 
Which thus I kiss to silence on thy mouth. 

Guen, Thy soul is softer than this boy's of thine : 
His heart is all toward battle. Was it mine 
That put such fire in his? for none that heard 
Thy flatteries — nay, I take not back the word — 
A flattering lover Hves my loving lord — 
Could guess thine hand so great with spear or sword. 

Zoc. What have I done for thee to mock with praise 
And make the boy's eyes widen ? All my days 
Are worth not all a week, if war be all, 
Of his that loved no bloodless festival — • 
Thy sire, and sire of slaughters : this was one 
Who craved no more of comfort from the sun 
But light to lighten him toward battle : I 
Love no such life as bids men kill or die. 

Guen, Wert thou not w^oman more in word than act, 
Then unrevenged thy brother Albanact 
Had given his blood to guard his realm and thine : 
But he that slew him found thy stroke, Locrine, 
Strong as thy speech is gentle. 

Loc, God assoil 

The dead our friends and foes ! 

Guen, A goodly spoil 

Was that thine hand made then by Humber's banks 
Of aU who swelled the Scythian's riotous ranks 
With storm of inland surf and surge of steel : 
None there were left, if tongues ring true, to feel 
The yoke of days that breathe submissive breath 
More bitter than the bitterest edge of death. 

Loc, None. 

Guen, This was then a day of blood. 1 heard. 
But know not whence I caught the wandering word. 
Strange women were there of that outland crew, 
Whom ruthlessly thy soldiers ravening slew. 

Loc, Nay, Scythians then had we been, worse than they. 

Guen, These that were taken, then, thou didst not slay ? 

Loc, I did not say we spared them. 

Guen, Slay nor spare ? 

Loc, How if they were not ? 



14 LOCRINE. 

Ouen, What albeit they were \ 

Small hurt, meseems, my husband, had it been 
Though British hands had haled a Scythian queen — 
If such were found — some woman foul and fierce — 
To death — or aught we hold for shame's sake worse. 

Loc, For shame's own sake the hand that should not fear 
To take such monstrous work upon it here, 
And did not wither from the wrist, should be 
Hewn off ere hanging. Wolves or men are we, 
That thou shouldst question this ? 

Quen, Not wolves, but men, 

Surely ; for beasts are loyal. 

Loc, Guendolen, 

What irks thee ? 

Onen, Nought save grief and love, Locrine, 

A grievous love, a loving grief is mine. 
Here stands my husband : there my father lies : 
I know not if there live in cither's eyes 
More love, more life of comfort. This our son 
Loves me ; but is there else left living one 
That loves me back as I love? 

Loc, Nay, but how 

Has this wild question fired thine heart ? 

Guen, Not thou ! 

No part have I — nay, never had I part — 
Our child that hears me knows it — in thine heart. 
Thy sire it was that bade our hands be one 
For love of mine, his brother : thou, his son, 
Didst give not — no — but yield thy hand to mine, 
To mine thy lips — not thee to me, Locrine. 
Thy heart has dwelt far off me all these years ; 
Yet have I never sought with smiles or tears 
To lure or melt it meward. I have borne — 
I that have borne to thee this boy — thy scorn, 
Thy gentleness, thy tender words that bite 
More deep than shame would, shouldst thou spurn or smite 
These limbs and lips made thine by contract — made 
No wife's, no queen's — a servant's — nay, thy shade. 
The shadow am I, my lord and king, of thee. 
Who art spirit and substance, body and soul to me. 
And now — nay, speak not — now my sire is dead 
Thou think' st to cast me crownless from thy bed 
Wherein I brought thee forth a son that now 
Shall perish with me, if thou wilt — and thou 



LOCRINE. 15 

Shalt live and laugh to think of us — or yet 
Play faith more foul — play falser, and forget. 

Loc, Sharp grief has crazed thy brain. Thou knowest of me — 

Guen. I know that nought I know, Locrine, of thee. 

Loc, What bids thee then revile me, knowing no cause ? 

Guen. Strong sorrow knows but sorrow's lawless laws. 

Loc. Yet these should turn not grief to raging fire. 

Guen, They should not, had my heart my heart's desire. 

Loc, Would God that love, my Queen, could give thee this ! 

Guen. Thou dost not call me wife — nor call'st amiss. 

Loc, What name should serve to stay this fitful strife ? 

Guen, Thou dost not ill to call me not thy wife. 

Loc, My sister well-nigh wast thou once ; and now — 

Guen, Thy sister never I : my brother thou. 

Loc, How shall man sound this riddle ? Eead it me, 

Guen. As loves a sister, never loved I thee. 

Loc, Not when we played as twin-born child with child ? 

Guen, If then thou thought'st it, both were sore beguiled. 

Loc, I thought thee sweeter then than summer doves. 

Guen, Yet not like theirs — woe worth it ! — were our loves. 

Loc, No ; for they meet and flit again apart. 

Guen, And we live linked, inseparate — heart in heart. 

Loc, Is this the grief that wrings and vexes thine ? 

Guen, Thy mother laughed when thou wast born, Locrine- 

Loc, Did she not well? Sweet laughter speaks not scorn. 

Guen, And thou didst laugh, and wept'st not, to be born. 

Loc, Did I then ill ? didst thou, then, weep to be ? 

Guen. The same star lit not thee to birth and me. 

Loc, Thine eyes took light, then, from the fairer star. 

Guen. Nay ; thine was nigh the sun, and mine afar. 

Loc, Too bright was thine to need the neighboring sun. 

Guen, Nay, all its life of light was well-nigh done. 

Loc, If all on thee its light and life were shed, 
And darkness on thy birthday struck it dead, i 

It died most happy, leaving life and light 
More fair and full in love's more thankful sight. 

Guen, Art thou so thankful, king, for love's kind sake? 
Would I were worthier thanks like these I take ! 
For thanks I cannot render thee again. 

Loc, Too heavy sits thy sorrow, Guendolen, 
Upon thy spirit of life ; I bid thee not 
Take comfort v*^hile the fire of grief is hot 
Still at thine heart, and scarce thy last keen tear 
Dried : yet the gods have left thee comfort here, 



16 LOCRINE. 

Guen, Comfort ? In thee, fair cousin — or my son ! 

Log, What hast thou done, Madan, or left undone ? 
Toward thee and me thy mother's mood to-day 
Seems less than loving. 

Mad, Sire, I cannot say. 

Loc, Enough : an hour or half an hour is more 
Than wrangling words should stuff with barren store. 
Comfort may'st thou bring to her, if I may none, 
When all her father quickens in her son. 
In Cornish warfare if thou win thee praise, 
Thine shall men liken to thy grandsire's days. 

Guen, To Cornwall must he fare and fight for thee ? 

Loc, If heart be his — and if thy will it be. 

Guen, What is my will worth more than wind or foam? 

Loc, Why, leave is thine to hold him here at home. 

Guen, What power is mine to speed him or to stay ? 

Loc, None — should thy child cast love and shame away. 

Guen, Most duteous wast thou to thy sire — and mine. 

Loc, Yea, truly — when their bidding sealed me thine. 

Guen, Thy smile is as a flame that plays and flits. 

Loc, Yet at my heart thou knowest what fire there sits. 

Guen, Not love's — not love's — toward me love burns not. there. 

Loc, What wouldst thou have me search therein and swear ? 

Guen, Swear by the faith none seeking there may find — 

Loc, Then — by the faith that lives not in thy kind — 

Guen, Ay — women's faith is water. Then, by men's — 

Loc, Yea — By Locrinc's, and not by Gucndolen's — 

Guen, Swear thou didst never love me more than now. 

Loc. I swear it — not when first we kissed. And thou? 

Guen, I cannot give thee back thine oath again. 

Loc. If now love wane within thee, lived it then ? 

Guen, I said not that it waned. I would not swear — - 

Loc, That it was ever more than shadows were ? 

Guen, Thy faith and heart were aught but shadow and fire. 

Loc. But thou, meseems, hast loved — thy son and sire. 

Guen. And not my lord ; I cross and thwart him still. 

Loc, Thy grief it is that wounds me — not thy will. 

Guen, Wound ? if I would, could I forsooth wound thee? 

Loc. I think thou wouldst not, though thine hands were free. 

Guen, These hands, now bound in wedlock fast to thine ? 

Loc, Yet were thine heart not then dislinked from mine. 
' Guen, Nay, life nor death, nor love whose child is hate, 
May sunder hearts made one but once by fate. 
Wrath may come down as fire between them — life 



LOCRINE. It 

May bid them yearn for death as man for wife — > 
Grief bid them stoop as son to father — shame 
Brand them, and memory turn their pulse to flame — 
Or falsehood change their blood to poisoned wine — 
Yet all shall rend them not in twain, Locrine. 

Loc, Who knows not this ? but rather would I know 
What thought distempers and distunes thy woe. 
I came to wed my grief awhile to thine 
For love's sake and for comfort's- — 

Guen, Thou, Locrine ? 

To-day thou knowest not, nor wilt learn to-morrow, 
The secret sense of such a word as sorrow. 
Thy spirit is soft and sweet : I well believe 
Thou wouldst, but well I know thou canst not grieve. 
The tears like fire, the fire that burns up tears, 
The blind wild woe that seals up eyes and ears, 
The sound of raging silence in the brain 
That utters things unutterable for pain. 
The thirst at heart that cries on death for ease, 
What knows thy soul's live sense of pangs like these ? 

Loc, Is no love left thee then for comfort ? 

Guen. Thine ? 

Lgc, Thy son's may serve thee, though tliou mock at mine. 

Guen, Ay — when he comes again from Cornwall. 

Loc, Nay ; 

If now his absence irk thee, bid him stay. 

Guen, I will not — yea, I would not, though I might. 
Go, child : God guard and grace thine hand in flight ! 

Mad. My heart shall give it grace to guard my head. 

Loc, Well thought, my son : but scarce of thee well said. 

Mad. No skill of speech have I : words said or sung 
Help me no more than hand is helped of tongue : 
Yet, would some better wit than mine, I wis. 
Help mine, I fain would render thanks for this. 

Guen. Think not the boy I bare thee too much mine, 
Though slack of speech and halting : I divine 
Thou shalt not find him faint of heart or hand, 
Come what may come against him. 

Loc. Nay, this land 

Bears not alive, nor bare it ere we came. 
Such bloodless hearts as know not fame from shame, 
Or quail for hope's sake, or more faithless fear, 
From^truth of single-sighted manhood, here 
Born and bred up to read the Avord aright 



18 LOCRINE. 

That sunders man from beast as day from night. 
That red rank Ireland where men burn and slay 
Girls, old men, children, mothers, sires, and say 
These wolves and swine that skulk and strike do well, 
As soon might know sweet heaven from ravenous hell. 

Ouen, Ay : no such coward as crawls and licks the dust 
Till blood thence licked may slake his murderous lust 
And leave his tongue the suppler shall be bred, 
I think, in Britain ever — if the dead 
May witness for the living. Though my son 
Go forth among strange tribes to battle, none 
Here shall he meet within our circling seas 
So much more vile than the vilest men as these. 
And though the folk be fierce that harbor there 
As once the Scythians driven before thee were, 
And though some Cornish water change its name 
As Humber then for furtherance of thy fame. 
And take some dead man's on it — some dead king's 
Slain of our son's hand — and its watersprings 
Wax red and radiant from such fire of fight 
And swell as high with blood of hosts in fight — 
No fiercer foe nor worthier shall he meet 
Than then fell grovelling at his father's feet. 
Nor, though the day run red with blood of men 
As that whose hours rang round thy praises then^ 
Shall thy son's hand be deeper dipped therein 
Than his that gat him — and that held it sin 
To spill strange blood of barbarous women — wives 
Or harlots — things of monstrous names and lives — 
Fit spoil for swords of harsher-hearted folk ; 
Nor yet, though some that dared and 'scaped the stroke 
Be fair as beasts are beauteous — fit to make 
False hearts of fools bow down for love's foul sake, 
And burn up faith to ashes — shall my son 
Forsake his father's ways for such an one 
As whom thy soldiers slew or slew not— thou 
Hast no remembrance of them left thee now. 
Even therefore may we stand assured of this : 
What lip soever lure his lip to kiss, 
Past question — else were he nor mine nor thine — 
This boy would spurn a Scythian concubine. 

Loc, Such peril scarce may cross or charm our son, 
Though fairer women earth or heaven sees none 
Than those whose breath makes mild our wild southwest 



LOCRINE. 19 

Where now he fares not forth on amorous quest. 

Guen, Wilt thou not bless him going, and bid him speed ? 

Loc. So be it ; yet surely not in word but deed 
Lives all the soul of blessing or of ban 
Or wrought or won: by manhood's might for man. 
The gods be gracious to thee, boy, and give 
Thy wish its will ! 

Mdd, So shalh they, if I live. \Exeunt 

Scene II. — Gardens of the Palace, 
Enter Camber and Debon. 

Cam. Nay, tell not me : no smoke of lies can smother 
The truth which lightens through thy lies : I see 
Whose trust it is that makes a liar of thee. 
And how thy falsehood, man, has faith for mother. 
What, is not thine the breast, wherein my brother. 
Seals all his heart up ? Had he put in me 
Faith — but his secret has thy tongue for key, 
And all his counsel opens to none other. 
Thy tongue, thine eye, thy smile unlocks his trust 
Who puts no trust in man. 

Deh, Sir, then were I 

A traitor found more perfect fool than knave 
Should I play false, or turn to gold for dust 
A gem worth all the gold beneath the sky — 
The diamond of the flawless faith he gave 
Who sealed his trust upon me. 

Cam. What art thou ? 

Because thy beard ere mine were black was gray 
Art thou the prince, and I thy man ? I say 
Thou shalt not keep his counsel from me. 

Deh. Now. 

Prince, may thine old born servant lift his brow 
As from the dust to thine, and answer — Nay. 
Nor canst thou turn this nay of mine to yea 
With all the lightning of thine eyes, I trow, 
Nor this my truth to treason. 

Cam. God us aid ! 

Art thou not mad ? Thou knowest what whispers crawl 
About the court with serpent sound and speed, 
Made out of fire and falsehood ; or if made 
Not all of lies— it may be thus — not all — 
Black yet no less with poison. 



80 LOCRINE. 

Deh, Prince, indeed 

I know the color of the tongues of fire 
That feed on shame to slake the thirst of hate ; 
Hell-black, and hot as hell : nor age nor state 
May pluck the fangs forth of their foul desire : 
I that was trothplight servant to thy sire, 
A king more kingly than the front of fate 
That bade our lives bow down disconsolate 
When death laid hold on him — for hope nor hire, 
Prince, would I lie to thee : nay, what avails 
Falsehood ? thou knowest I would not. 

Cam, Why, thou art old ; 

To thee could falsehood bear but fruitless fruit — 
Lean grafts and sour. I think thou wouldst not. 

Deb, Wales 

In such a lord lives happy : young and bold 
And yet not mindless of thy sire King Brute 
Who loved his loyal servants even as they 
Loved him. Yea, surely, bitter were the fruit, 
Prince Camber, and the tree ratten at root 
That are it, whence my tongue should take to-day 
For thee the taste of poisonous treason. 

Cam. Nay, 

What boots it though thou plight thy word to boot ? 
True servant wast thou to my sire King Brute, 
And Brute thy king true master to thee. 

Deh. Yea. 

Troy, ere her towers dropped hurtling down in flame, 
Bare not a son more noble than the sire 
Whose son begat thy father. Shame it were 
Beyond all record in the world of shame, 
If they that hither bore in heart that fire 
Which none save men of heavenly heart may bear 
Had left no sign, though Troy were spoiled and sacked, 
That heavenly was the seed they saved. 

Cam, No sign? 

Though nought my fame be — though no praise of mine 
Be worth men's tongues for word or thought or act — - 
Shall fame forget my brother Albanact, 
Or how those Huns who drank his blood for wine 
Poured forth their own for offering to Locrine ? 
Though all the soundless maze of time were tracked, 
No men should man find nobler. 

Deh, Surely none. 



LOCRINE. 21 

No man loved ever more than I thy brothers, 
Prince. 

Cam, Ay — for them thy love is bright like spring, 
And colder toward me than the wintering sun. 
What am I less — what less am I than others, 
That thus thy tongue discrowns my name of king. 
Dethrones my title, disanoints my state. 
And pricks me down but petty prince ? 

Deh, My lord — 

Cam, Ay 1 must my name among their names stand scored | 
Who keep my brother's door or guard his gate ? T 

A lordliug — princeling — one that stands to wait — 
That lights him back to bed or serves at board. 
Old man, if yet thy foundering brain record 
Aught — if thou know that once my sire was great, 
Then must thou know he left no less to me. 
His youngest, than to those my brethren born, 
Kingship. 

Deh. I know it. Your servant, sire, am I, 
Who lived so long your sire's. 

Cam, And how had he 

Endured thy silence or sustained thy scorn ? 
Why must I know not what thou knowest of ? 

Deb. Why? 

Hast thou not heard, king, that a true man's trust 
Is king for him of life and death ? Locrine 
Hath sealed with trust my lips — nay, prince, not mine — 
His are they now. 

Cam. Thou art wise as he, and just, 

And secret. God requite thee ! yea, he must. 
For man shall never. If my sword here shine 
Sunward — God guard that reverend head of thine ! 

Deh. My blood should make thy sword the sooner rust, 
And rot thy fame forever. Strike. 

Cam. Thou knowest 

I will not. Am I Scythian born, or Greek, - 

That I should take thy bloodshed on my hand ? 

Deh. Nay — if thou seest me soul to soul, and showest 
Mercy — 

Cam. Thou think' st I would have slain thee ? Speak. 

Deh. Nay, then I will, for love of all this land : 
Lest, if suspicion bring forth strife, and fear 
Hatred, its face be withered with a curse ; 
Lest the eyeless doubt of unseen ill be worse 



22 LOCRINE. 

Than very truth of evil Thou shalt hear 

Such truth as falling in a base man's ear 

Should bring forth evil indeed in hearts perverse ; 

But forth of thine shall truth, once known, disperse 

Doubt : and dispersed, the cloud shall leave thee clear 

In judgment — nor, being young, more merciless, 

I think, than I toward hearts that erred and yearned, 

Struck through with love and blind with fire of life 

Enkindled. When the sharp and stormy stress 

Of Scythian ravin round our borders burned 

Eastward, and he that faced it first in strife. 

King Albanact, thy brother, fought and fell, 

Locrine, our lord, and lordliest born of you, — 

Thy chief, my prince, and mine — against them drew 

With all the force our southern strengths might tell, 

And by the strong mid water's seaward swell 

That sunders half our Britain met and slew 

The prince whose blood baptized its fame anew, 

And left no record of the name to dwell 

W^hereby men called it ere it wore his name, 

Humber ; and wide on wing the carnage went 

Along the drenched red fields that felt the tramp 

At once of flyers and slayers with feet like flame : 

But the king halted, seeing a royal tent 

Reared, with its ensign crowning all the camp. 

And entered — where no Scythian spoil he found, 

But one fair face, the Scythian's sometime prey, 

A lady's whom their ships had borne away 

By force of warlike hand from German ground, 

A bride and queen by violent power fast bound 

To the errant helmsman of their fierce array. 

And her, left lordless by that ended fray. 

Our lord beholding loved, and hailed, and crowned 

Queen. 

Cam, Queen ! and what perchance of Guendolen ? 
Sleep she forsooth forgotten ? 

Deh, Nay, my lord 

Knows that albeit their hands were precontract 
By Brute, your father dying, no man of men 
May fasten hearts with hands in one accord. 
The love our master knew not that he lacked 
Fulfilled him even as heaven by dawn is filled 
With fire and light that burns and blinds and leads 
All men to wise or witless works or deeds^ 



LOCRINE. 23 

Beholding, ere indeed he wist or willed, 

Eyes that sent flame through veins that age had chilled. 

Cam. Thine — with that gray goat's fleece on chin, sir ? Needs 
Must she be fair ; thou, wi*apt in age's weeds. 
Whose blood, if time have touched it not and stilled, 
The sun's own fire must once have kindled, — thou 
Sing praise of soft-lipped women ? doth not shame 
Sting thee, to sound this minstrel's note, and gild 
A girl's proud face with praises, though her brow 
Were bright as dawn's ? And had her grace no name 
For men to worship by ? Her name ? 

Deh, Estrild. 

Cam, My brother is a prince of paramours — - 
Eyes colored like the springtide sea, and hair 
Bright as with fire of sundawn — face as fair 
As mine is swart and worn with haggard hours, 
Though less in years than his — such hap was ours 
When chance drew forth for us the lots that were 
Hid close in time's clenched hand : and now I swear, 
Though his be goodlier than the stars or flowers, 
I would not change this head of mine, or crown 
Scarce worth a smile of his — thy lord Locrine's — 
For that fair head and crown imperial ; nay, 
Not were I cast by force of fortune down 
Lower than the lowest lean serf that prowls and pines 
And loathes for fear all hours of night and day. 

Deh, What says my lord ? how means he ? 

Cam, Vex not thou 

Thine old hoar head with care to learn of me 
This. Great is time, and what he wills to be 
Is here or ever proof may bring it : now, 
Now, is the future present. If thy vow 
Constrain thee not, yet would I know of thee 
One thing: this lustrous love-bird, where is she? 
What nest is hers on what green flowering bough 
Deep in what wild sweet woodland? 

Deh, Good my lord. 

Have I not sinned already — flawed my faith. 
To lend such ear even to such royal suit ? 

Cam, Yea, by my kingdom hast thou — by my sword, 
Yea. Now speak on. 

Deh, Yet hope — or honor — saith 

I did not ill to trust the blood of Brute 
Within thee. Not Prince Hector's sovereign soul, 



^1^4 LOCRIKE. 

The light of all thy lineage, more abhorred 
Treason than all his days did Brute my lord. 
My trust shall rest not in thee less than whole. 

Cam. Speak, then : too long thou falterest nigh the goal, 

Deh, There is a bower built fast beside a ford 
In Essex, held in sure and secret ward 
Of woods and walls and waters, still and sole 
As love could choose for harborage : there the king 
Keeps close from all men now these seven years since 
The light wherein he lives : and there hath she 
Borne him a maiden child more sweet than spring. 

Cam. A child her daughter ? there now hidden ? 

Deh, Prince, what ails thee ? 

Cam, Nought. This river's name ? 

Deh, The Ley. 

Cam, Nigh Leytonstone in Essex — called of old 
By men thine elders Durolitum ? There 
Are hind and fawn couched close to one green lair? 
Speak: hast thou not my faith in pawn, to hold 
Fast as my brother's heart this love, untold 
And undivined of all men ? must I swear 
Twice— I, to thee ? 

Deh, But if thou set no snare, 

Why shine thine eyes so sharp ? I am overbold : 
Sir, pardon me. 

Cam. My sword shall split thine heart 

With pardon if thou palter with me. 

Deh, Sir, 

There is the place : but though thy brow be grim 
As hell — I knew thee not the man thou art — 
I will not bring thee to it. 

Cam, For love of her ? 

Nay — better shouldst thou know my love of him. \_ExeunU 

ACT II. 

Scene I. — The hanks of the Ley. 
Enter Estrild and Sabrina. 

Sahr, But will my father come not ? not to-day, 
Mother ? 

Estr, God help thee ! child, I cannot say, 
Why this of all days yet in summer's sight ? 

Sabr, My birthday ! 



) 



LOCRINE. 

Ustr, That should bring him — if it may. 

Sab7\ May should be must ; he must not be away. 
His faith was pledged to me as king and knight. 

JSstr, Small fear he should not keep it — if he might. 

Sab7\ Might ! and a king's might his ? do kings bear sway 
For nought, that aught should keep him hence till night? 
Why didst thou bid God help me when I sought 
To know but of his coming ? 

jEJstr, Eveii for nought 

But laughter even to think how strait a bound 
Shuts in the measure of thy sight and thought 
Who seest not why thy sire hath need of aught 
Save thee and me — nor wherefore men stand crowned 
And girt about with empire. 

Sabr, Have they found 

Such joy therein as meaner things have wrought ? 
Sing me the song that ripples round and round. 

IJstr, (sings) — 

Had I wist, quoth spring to the swallow, \., 

That earth could forget me, kissed 
By summer, and lured to follow 
Down ways that I know not, I, 
My heart should have waxed not high : 
Mid March would have seen me die, 
Had I wist. 

Had I wist, O spring, said the swallow, 

That hope was a sunlit mist 
And the faint light heart of it hollow, • 
Thy woods had not heard me sing, 
Thy winds had not known my wing; 
It had faltered ere thine did, spring. 

Had I wist. ^' 

Sabr. That song is hardly even as wise as I — 
Nay, very foolishness it is. To die 
In March before its life were well on wing. 
Before its time and kindly season — why 
Should spring be sad — before the swallows fly — 
Enough to dream of such a wintry thing ? 
Such foolish words were more unmeet for spring 
Than snow for summer when his heart is high ; 
And why should words be foolish when they sing ? 
The song birds are not. 



^ ' LOCRINE. 

Estr, Dost thou understand, 

Child, what the birds are singing ? 

Sahr. All the land 

Knows that : the water tells it to the rushes 
AloQd, and lower and softlier to the sand : 
The flower-fays, lip to lip and hand in hand, 
Laugh and repeat it all till darkness hushes 
Their singing with a word that falls and crushes 
All song to silence down the river-strand 
, And where the hawthorns hearken for the thrushes, 
And all the secret sense is sweet and wise 
That sings through all their singing, and replies 
When we would know if heaven be gay or gray 
And would not open all too soon our eyes 
To look perchance on no such happy skies 
As sleep brings close and waking blows away. 

Estr, What gives thy fancy faith enough to say 
This? 

Sahr, Why, meseems the sun would hardly rise 
Else, nor the world be half so glad of day. 

Estr. Why didst thou crave of me that song, Sabrina ? 

Sahr. Because, methought, though one were king or queen 
And had the world to play with, if one missed 
What most were good to have, such joy, I ween, 
Were woful as a song with sobs between 
And well might wail for ever, *^ Had I wist !" 
And might my father do but as he list, 
And make this day what other days have been, 
I should not shut to-night mine eyes unkissed. 

Estr, I wish thou wouldst not 

Sahr, Then I would he were 

No king at all, and save his golden hair 
Wore on his gracious head no golden crown. 
Must he be king for ever ? 

Estr. Not if prayer 

Could lift from off his heart that crown of care 
And draw him toward us as with music down. 

Sahr. Not so, but upward to us. He would but frown 
To hear thee talk as though the woodlands there 
Were built no lordlier than the wide-walled town. 
Thou knowest, when I desire of him to see 
What manner of crown that wreath of towers may be 
That makes its proud head shine like older Troy's, 
His brows are bent even while he lauo-hs on me 



LOCRINE. 2? 

And bids me ttink no more thereon than he, 
For flowers are serious things, but towers are toys. 

Estr, Ay, child ; his heart was less care's throne than joy's, 
Power's less than love's friend ever : and with thee 
His mood that plays is blither than a boy's. 

Sahr, I would the boy would give the maid her will. 

JEstr, Has not thine heart as mine has here its fill ? 

Sahr, So have our hearts while sleeping — till they wake. 

Estr. Too soon is this for waking : sleep thou still. 

Sahr, Bid then the dawn sleep, and the world lie chill. 

JEstr, This nest is warm for one small wood dove's sake. 

Sahr, And warm the world that feels the sundawn break. 

Estr, But hath my fledgeling cushat here slept ill ? 

Sahr, No plaint is this, but pleading, that I make. 

Estr, Plead not against thine own glad life : the plea 
Were like a wrangling babe's that fain would be 
Free from the help its hardy heart contemns, 
Free from the hand that guides and guards it, free 
To take its way and sprawl and stumble. See 1 
Have we not here enough of diadems 
Hung high round portals pillared smooth with stems 
More fair than marble ? 

Sahr, This is but the Ley ; 

I fain would look upon the lordlier Thames. 

Estr, A very water bird thou art ; the river 
So draws thee to it that, seeing, my heart-strings quiver 
And yearn with fear lest peril teach thee fear 
Too late for help or daring to deliver. 

Sahr, Nay, let the wind make willows weep and shiver: 
Me shall nor wind nor water, while I hear 
What goodly words saith each in other's ear. 
And which is given the gift, and which the giver, 
I know not, but they take and give good cheer. 

Estr, Howe'er this be, thou hast no heed of mine, 
To take so little of this life of thine 
I gave and would not see thee cast away 
For childishness in childhood, though it shine 
For me sole comfort, for my Lord Locrine 
Chief comfort in the world. 

Sahr, N^y? mother, nay, 

Make me not weep with chiding. Wilt thou say 
I love thee not ? Hark ! See my sire for sign ! 
1 hear his horse. 

Estr, He comes ! 

Sahr. He comes to-day ! \ExeunU 



28 ^ LOCRINE. 

Scene II. — Troynovant A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Guendolen and Camber. 

Guen, I know not, sir, what ails you to desire 
Sucli audience of me as I give. 

Cam. What ails 

Me, sister ? Were the heart in me no higher 
Than his who heeds no more than harpers' tales 
Such griefs as set a sister's heart on fire. 

Guen, Then were my brother now at rest in Wales, 
And royal. 

Cam, Am I less than royal here ? 

Guen, Even here as there alike, sir. 

Cam, Dost thou fear 

Nothing ? 

Guen, My princely cousin, not indeed 
Much that might hap at will or word of thine. 

Cam, Ay — meanest am I of my father's seed. 
If men misjudge not, cous\n ; and Locrine 
Noblest. 

Guen, Should I gainsay their general rede, 
My heart would mock me. 

Cam, Such a spirit as mine 

Being spiritless — my words heartless — mine acts 
Faint shadows of Locrine's or Alban act's ? 

Guen. Nay — not so much — I said not so. Say thou 
What thou wouldst have — if aught thou wouldst — with me. 

Cam. No man might see thine eyes and lips and brow 
Who would not — what he durst not crave of thee. 

Guen. Ah, verily ? And thy spirit exalts thee now 
So high that these thy words fly forth so free. 
And fain thine act would follow — flying above 
Shame's reach and fears ? What gift may this be? Love? 
Or liking? or compassion? 

Cam. Take not thus 

Mine innocent words amiss, nor wrest awry ^ 
Their piteous purpose toward thee. 

Guen. Piteous ! 

Who lives so low and looks upon the sky 
As would desire — who shares the sun with us 
That might deserve thy pity ? 

Cam. Thou. 

Guen. Not I. 

Though I were cast out hence, cast off, discrowned. 



LOCRINE. 29 

Abject, ungirt of all that guards me round, 
Naked. What villainous madness, knave and king, 
Is this that puts upon thy babbling tongue 
Poison ? 

Cam, The truth is as a snake to sting 
That breathes ill news ; but where its fang hath stung 
The very pang bids health and healing spring. 
God knows the grief wherewith my spirit is wrung — 
The spirit of thee so scorned, so misesteemed. 
So mocked with strange misprision and misdeemed | 

Merciless, false, unbrotherly^ — to take ; 

Such task upon it as may burn thine heart 
With bitterer hatred of me that I spake 
What, had I held my peace and crept apart 
And tamed my soul to silence for thy sake 
And mercy toward the royal thing thou art. 
Chance haply might have made a fiery sword 
To slay thee with — slay thee and spare thy lord. 

Guen. Worse had it done to slay my lord, and spare 
Me. Wilt thou not show mercy toward me ? Then 
Strike with that sword my heart through — if thou dare. 
All know thy tongue's edge deadly. 

Cam, Guendolen, 

Thou seest me like a vassal bound to bear 
All bitter words that bite the hearts of men 
From thee, so be it this please thy wrath. I stand 
Slave of thy tongue and subject of thine hand, 
And pity thee. Take, if thou wilt, my head; 
Give it my brother. Thou shalt hear me speak 
First, thou the soothfast word that hangs unsaid 
As yet, being spoken — albeit this hand be weak 
And faint this heart, thou sayest — should strike thee dead 
Even with that rose of wrath on brow and cheek. 

Guen, I hold not thee too faint of heart to slay 
Women. Say forth whate'er thou hast heart to say. 

Cam, Silence I have not heart to keep, and see 
Scorn and derision gird thee round with shame, 
Not knowing what all thy serfs who mock at thee 
Know, and make mirth and havoc of thy name. 
Does this not move thee? 

Guen, How should aught move me 

Fallen from such tongues as falsehood finds the same- 
Such tongues as fraud or treasonous hate o'erscurfs 
With leprous lust — a prince's or a serf's ? 



W LOCRINE. 

Cam. That last of the evil- speaking tongue which gives 
Quick breath to deadly lies, and stings to life. 
The rottenness of falsehood, when it lives, 
Falls dumb, and leaves the lie to bring forth strife. 
The liar will say no more — his heart misgives 
His knaveship — should he sunder man and wife? 
Such, sister, in thy sight, it seems, am I. 
Yet shalt thou take, to keep or cast it by, 
The truth of shame I would not have thee hear — 
Not might I choose, but choose I may not. 

Guen. ^ Shame 

And truth ? Shame never toward thine heart came near, 
And all thy life hath hung about thy name. 
Nor ever truth drew nigh the lips that fear 
Whitens, and makes the blood that feeds them tame. 
Speak all thou wilt — but even for shame, forsooth, 
Talk not of shame — and tell me not of truth. 

Cam. Then shalt thou hear a lie. Thy loving lord 
Loves none save thee ; his heart's pulse beats in thine ; 
No fairer woman, captive of his sword, 
Caught ever captive and subdued Locrine : 
The god of lies bear witness. At the ford 
Of Humber blood was never shed like wine : 
Our brother Albanact lived, fought, and died, 
Never : and I that swear it have not lied. 

Guen. Fairer? 

Cam. They say it : but what are lies to thee ? 

Guen. Art thou nor man nor woman ? 

Cam. Nay — I trust — 

Man. 

Guen. And hast heart to make thy spoil of me? 

Cam. Would God I might ! 

Guen. Tbou art made of lies and lust — 
Earth's worst is all too good for such to see. 
And yet thine eyes turn heavenward — as they must, 
Being man's — if man be such as thou — and soil 
The light they see. Thou hast made of me thy spoil, 
Thy scorn, thy profit — yea, my whole soul's plunder 
Is all thy trophy, thy triumphal prize 
And harvest reaped of thee ; nay, trampled under 
And rooted up and scattered. Yet the skies 
That see thy trophies reared are full of thunder, 
And heaven's high justice loves not lust and lies. 

Cam. Ill then should fare thy lord — if heaven be just, 



LOCRINE. U 

And lies be lies, and lawless love be lust. 

Guen, Thou liest. I know my lord and tbee. Thou liest. 

Cam. If he be true and truth be false, I lie. 

Guen, Thou art lowest of all men born — while he sits highest. 

Cam. Ay — while he sits. How long shall he sit high? 

Guen, If I but whisper him of thee thou diest. 

Cam. I fear not, if till then secure am I. 

Guen. Secure as fools are hardy live thou still. 

Cam. While ill with good is guerdoned, good with ill. 

Guen. I have it in my mind to take thine head. 
Dost thou not fear to put me thus in fear? 

Cam. I fear nor man nor woman, quick nor dead; 
And dead in spirit already stand' st thou here. 

Guen. Thou darest not swear my lord hath wronged my bed. 
Thou darest but smile and mutter, lie and leer. 

Cam. I swear no queen bore ever crown on brow 
Who meeklier bore a heavier wrong than thou. 

Guen. From thee will I bear nothing. Get thee hence : . 
Thine eyes defile me. Get thee from my sight. 

Cam. The gods defend thee, soul and spirit and sense, 
From sense of things thou darest not read aright! 
Farewell. [Exit. 

Guen. Fare thou not well, and be defence 
Far from thy soul cast naked forth by night ! 
Hate rose from hell a liar : love came- divine 
From Heaven : yet she that bore thee bore Locrine. \ExiL 

ACT HI. 

Scene I. — Troynovant. A Room in the Palace. 
Enter Locrine and Debon. 

Loc. Thou knowest not what she knows or dreams of ? why 
Her face is dark and wan, her lip and eye 
Restless and red as fever ? Hast thou kept 
Faith ? 

Deh. Has my master found my faith a lie 
Once all these years through ? Have I strayed or slept 
Once, when he bade me watch ? what proof has leapt 
At last to light against me ? 

Loc. Surely, none. 

Weep not. 

Deh. My lord's gray vassal hath not wept 
Once, eveQ since the darkness covered froni the sun 



$2 LOCRINE. 

The woman's face — the sole sweet wifelike one — 
Whose memory holds his heart yet fast: but now 
Tears, were old age not poor in tears, might run 
Free as the words that bid his stricken brow 
Burn and bow down to hear them. 

Loc, Hast not thou 

Held counsel — played the talebearer whose tales 
Bear plague abroad and poison, knowing not how — 
Not with my wife nor brother? 

Deb. Nought avails 

Falsehood : and truth it is, the king of Wales 
So plied me, sir, with force of craft and threat — 

Loc. That thou, whose faith swerves never, flags nor fails 
Nor falters, being as stars are loyal, yet 
Wast found as those that fall from heaveu, forget 
Their station, shoot and shudder down to death 
Deep as the pit of hell ? What snares were set 
To take thy soul — what mist of treasonous breath 
Made blind in thee the sense that quickeneth 
In true men's inward eyesight, when they know 
And know not how they know the word it saith. 
The warning word that whispers loud or low — 
I ask not : be it enough these things are so. 
Thou hast played me false. 

Deb. Nay, now this long time since 

We have seen the queen's face wan with wrath and woe — 
Have seen her lip writhe and her eyelid wince 
To take men's homage — proof that might convince 
Of grief inexpiable and insatiate shame 
Her spirit in all men's judgment. 

Loc. But the prince — 
My brother, whom thou knowest by proof, not fame, 
A coward whose heart is all a flickering flame 
That fain would burn and dares not — whence had he 
The poison that he gave her ? Speak : this came 
By chance — mishap — most haplessly for thee 
Who hadst my heart in thine, and madest of me 
No more than might for folly's sake or fear's 
Be bared for even such eyes as his to see ? 
Old friend that wast, I would not see thy tears. 
God comfort thy dishonor ! 

Deb. All these years 

Have I not served thee ? 

Loc. Yea. So cheer thee now. 



LOCRINE. 33 

Deh, Cheered be the traitor, whom the true man cheers ? 
Nay, smite me : God can be not such as thou, 
And will not damn me with forgiveness. How 
Hast thou such heart, to comfort such as me? 
God's thunder were less fearful than the brow 
That frowns not on thy friend found false to thee. 
Thy friend — thou said'st — thy friend. Strange friends are we. 
Nay, slay me then — nay, slay me rather. 

Loc, Friend, 

Take comfort. God's wide-reaching will shall be 
Here as of old accomplished, though it blend 
All good with ill that none may mar or mend. 
Thy works and mine are ripples on the sea. 
Take heart, I say : we know not yet their end. \Exeunt 

Scene H. — Oar dens of the Palace, 
Enter Camber and Mad an. 

Cam, Hath no man seen thee ? 

Mad. Had he seen, and spoken, 

His head should lose its tongue. I am far away 
In Cornwall. 

Cam, Where the front of war is broken 
By the onset of thy force — the rebel fray 
Shattered. Had no man — canst thou surely say . — 
Knowledge betimes, to give us knowledge here — 
Us babblers, tongues made quick with fraud and fear — 
That thou wast bound from Cornwall hither? 

Mad, None, 

I think, who knowing of steel and fire and cord 
That they can smite and burn and strangle one 
Would loose without leave of his parting lord 
The tongue that else were sharper than a sword 
To cut the throat it sprang from. 

Cam, Nephew mine, 

I have ever loved thee — not thy sire Locrine 
More — and for very and only love of thee 
Have I desired, or ever even thy mother 
Beheld thee, here to know of thee and me 
Which loves her best — her and thy sire my brother. 

Mad, He being away, far hence — and so none other — 
Not he — should share the knowledge ? 

Cam, Surely not 

He. Knowest thou whither hence he went ? 



m LOCRINE. 

Mad. God wot : 

No; haply toward some hidden paramour. 

Cam, And that should set not, for thy mother's sake 
And thine, the heart in thee on fire? 

Mad. An hour 

Is less than even the time wherein we take 
Breath to let loose the word that fain would break, 
And cannot, even for passion, — if we set 
An hour against tfie length of life : and yet 
Less in account of life should be those hours — 
Should be ? should be not, live not, be not known, 
Not thought of, not remembered even as ours, — 
Whereon the flesh or fancy bears alone 
Rule that the soul repudiates for its own, 
Rejects and mocks and mourns for, and reclaims 
Its nature, none the ignobler for the shames 
That were but shadows on it — shed but shade 
And perished. If thy brother and king, my sire — 

Cam. No king of mine is he — we are equal, weighed 
Aright in state, though here his throne stand higher. 

Mad. So be it. I say, if even some earth-born fire 
Have ever lured the loftiest head that earth 
Sees royal, toward a charm of baser birth 
And force less godlike than the sacred spell 
That links with him my mother, what were this 
To her or me ? 

Cam. To her no more than hell 

To souls cast forth who hear all hell-fire hiss 
All round them, and who feel the red worm's kiss 
Shoot mortal poison through the heart that rests 
Immortal : serpents suckled at her breasts, 
Fire feeding on her limbs, less pain should be 
Than sense of pride laid waste and love laid low. 
If she be queen or woman : and to thee — 

Mad. To me that wax not woman though I know 
This, what shall hap or hap not ? 

Cam. Were it so. 

It should not irk thee, she being wronged alone ; 
Thy mother's bed, and not thy father's throne, 
Being soiled with usurpation. Ay ? but say 
That now mine uncle and her sire lies dead 
And helpless now to help her, or affray 
The heart wherein her ruin and thine were bred, 
Not sl^e were cast forth only from bis bed. 



LOCRINE. 35 

But thou, loathed issue of a contract loathed 
Since first their hands were joined but not betrothed, 
Were cast forth out of kingship ? stripped of state, 
Unmade his son, unseated, unallowed. 
Discrowned, disorbed, discrested — thou, but late 
Prince, and of all men's throats acclaimed aloud, 
Of all men's hearts accepted and avowed 
Prince, now proclaimed for some sweet bastard's sake 
Peasant ? 

Mad, Thy sire was sure less man than snake. 
Though mine miscall thee brother. 

Cam, Coward or mad ? 

Which might one call thee rather, whose harsh heart 
Envenoms so thy tongue toward one that had 
No thought less kindly — toward even thee that art 
Kindless — than best beseems a kinsman's part? 

Mad, Lay not on me thine own foul shame whose tongue 
Would turn my blood to poison, while it stung 
Thy brother's fame to death. I know my sire 
As shame knows thee — and better no man aught. 

Cam, Have thy will, then ; take thy full desire : 
Drink dry the draught of ruin : bid all blows 
Welcome : being harsh with friends, be mild with foes, 
And give shame thanks for buffets. Yet I thought — 
But how should help avail where heart is nought? 

Mad, Yet — thou didst think to help me ? 

Cam. Kinsman, ay. 

My hand had held the field beside thine own. 
And all wild hills that knew my rallying cry 
Had poured forth war for heart's pure love alone 
To help thee — wouldst thou heed me — to thy throne. 

Mad. For pure heart's love? what wage holds love in fee ? 
Might half my kingdom serve ? Nay, mock not me. 
Fair uncle : should I cleave the crown in twain 
And gird my temples with the goodlier half, 
Think'st thou my debt might so be paid again — 
Thy sceptre made a more imperial staff 
Than sways as now thy hill-folk ? 

Cam, Dost thou laugh ? 

Were this too much for kings to give and take? 
If warrior Wales do battle for thy sake. 
Should I that kept the crown for thee be held 
Worth less than royal guerdon ? 

Mad, Keep thine own, 



m LOCRINE. 

And let the loud fierce tnaves thy brethren quelled 

Ward off the wolves whose hides should line thy throne, 

Wert thou no coward, no recreant to the bone, 

No liar in spirit and soul and heartless heart, 

No slave, no traitor — nought of all thou art. 

A thing like thee, made big with braggart breath. 

Whose tongue shoots fire, whose promise poisons trust. 

Would cast a shieldless soldier forth to death 

And wreck three realms to sate his rancorous lust 

With ruin of them who have weighed and found him dust. 

Get thee to Wales ; there strut in speech and swell : 

And thence betimes God speed thee safe to hell. 

[IJxeunt severally, 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. — The banks of the Ley, 
Enter Locrine and Estrild. 

Zoc. If thou didst ever love me, love me now. 
I am weary at heart of all on earth save thee. 
And yet I lie ; and yet I lie not. Thou — 
Dost thou not think for love's sake scorn of me ? 

Estr, As earth of heaven ; as morning of the sun. 

Loc. Nay, what thinks evening, whom he leaves undone ? 

Estr. Thou madest me queen and woman ; though my*life 
Were taken, these thou couldst not take again. 
The gifts thou gavest me. More am I than wife. 
Whom, till my tyrant by their strength were slain 
And by thy love my servile shame cast out. 
My naked sorrows clothed and girt about 
With princelier pride than binds the brows of queens, 
Thou sawest of all things least and lowest alive. 
What means thy doubt? 

Loc. Fear knows not what it means : 

And I was fearful even of clouds that drive 
Across the dawn, and die — of all, of nought — 
Winds whispering on the darkling ways of thought, 
Sunbeams that flash like fire, and hopes like fears 
That slay themselves, and live again, and die. 
But in mine eyes thy light is, in mine ears 
Thy music : I am thine, and more than I, 
Being half of thy sweet soul. 

Estr, Woe worth me then ! 

For one requires thee wholly. 



LOCKINE. al 

Loc, Guendolen ? 

Estr. I said she was the fairer — and I lied not. 

Loc, Thou art the fairest fool alive. 

Estr. But she, 

Being wise, exceeds nae ; yet, so she divide not 
Thine heart, my best beloved of liars, with me, 
I care not — nor I will not care. Some part 
She hath had, it may be, of thy fond false heart — 
Nay, couldst thou choose ? but now, though she be fairer, 
Let her take all or none : I will not be 
Partaker of her perfect sway, nor sharer 
With any on earth more dear or less to thee. 
Nay, be not wroth : what wilt thou have me say ? 
That I can love thee less than she can ? Nay, 
Thou knowest I will not ill to her ; but she — 
Would she not burn my child and me with fire 
To wreak herself, who loved thee once, on thee ? 

Loc, Thy fear is darker, child, than her desire. 

EbIt, I fear not her at all : I would not fear 
The one thing fearful to me yet, who here 
Sit walled around with waters and with woods 
From all things fearful but the fear of change. 

Loc, Fear thou not that :/ for nothing born eludes 
Time; and the joy were sorrowful and strange 
That should endure for ever. fYea, I think 
Such joy would pray for sorrow's cup to drink, 
Such constancy desire an end, for mere 
Long weariness of watching. y Thou and I 
Have all our will of life and^loving here — 
A heavenlier heaven on earth : but we shall die. 
And if we died not, love we might outlive 
As now shall love outlive us. 

Estr, We? 

Loc, Forgive ! 

Estr, King ! and I held thee more than man ! 

Loc, God wot. 

Thou art more than I — more strong and wise : I know 
Thou couldst not live one hour if love were not. 

Estr, And thou ? 

Loc, I would not. All the world were woe, 

And all the day night, if the love I bear thee 
Were plucked out of the life wherein I wear thee 
As crown and comfort of its nights and days. 

Estr, Thou liest — for love's sake and for mine — and I 



m LOCRINE. 

Lie not, who swear by thee whereon I gaze 
I hold no truth so hallowed as the lie 
Wherewith ray love redeems me from the snare 
Dark doubt had set to take me. 

Loc, Wilt thou swear — 

By what thou wilt soever — by the sun 
That sees us — by the light of all these flowers — 
By this full stream whose waves we hear not run — 
By all that is not mine nor thine, but ours — 
That thou didst ever doubt indeed ? or dream 
That doubt, whose breath bids love of love misdeem, 
Were other than the child of hate and hell. 
The liar first-born of falsehood ? 

Ustr. Nay — I think — 

God help me ! — hardly. Never ? Can I tell ? 
When half our soul and all our senses sink 
From dream to dream down deathward, slain with sleep, 
How may faith hold assurance fast, or keep 
Her power to cast out fear for love's sake. 

Loc, I could doubt not thee, waking or sleeping. 

Ustr, No- — 

Thou art not mad. How should the sunlit sky 
Betray the sun ? cast out the sunshine ? So 
Art thou to me as light to heaven. Should light 
Die, were not heaven as hell and noon as night? 
And w^herefore should I hold more dear than life 
Death ? Could I live, and lack thee ? Thou, O king, 
Hast lands and lordships — and a royal wife — 
And rule of seas that tire the seamew's wing — 
And fame as far as fame can travel ; I, 
What have I save this home wherein to die. 
Except thou love me ? Nay, nor home were this. 
No place to die or live in, were I sure 
Thou didst not love me. Swear not by this kiss 
That love lives longer — faith may more endure — 
Than one poor kiss that passeth with the breath 
Of lips that gave it life at once and death. 
Why shouldst thou swear, and wherefore should I trust? 
When day shall drive not night from heaven, and night 
Shall chase not day to deathward, then shall dust 
Be constant — and the stars endure the sight 
Of dawn that shall not slay them. 

Loc. By thine eyes — 

Turned stormier now than stars in bare-blown skies 



LOCRINE. '39 

Where through the wind rings menace — I will swear 
Nought : so shall fear, mistrust and jealous hate 
Lie foodless, if not fangless. Thou, so fair 
That heaven might change for thee the seal of fate, 
How darest thou doubt thy power on souls of men ? 

Estr. What vows were those that won thee Guendolen ? 

Loc, I sware not so to her. Thou knowest — 

Estr, Not I. 

Thou knowest that I know nothing. 

Loc. N^y, I know 

That nothing lives under the sweet blue sky 
Worth thy sweet heeding, wouldst thou think but so, 
Save love — wherewith thou seest thv world fulfilled. 

JEsrt Ay, would I see but with thine eyes. 

Loc, Estrild, 

Estrild ! 

Estr, No soft reiterance of my name 
Can sing my sorrow down that comes and goes 
And colors hope with fear and love with shame, 
^/'^ose hast thou called me : were I like the rose, 
Happier were I than woman ; she survives 
Not by one hour, like us of longer lives, 
The sun she lives in and the love he gives 
And takes away ; but we, when love grows sere, 
Live yet, while trust in love no longer lives. 
Nor drink for comfort with the dying year 
\^Death. 

Loc, Wouldst thou drink forgetfulness for wine 
To heal thine heart of love toward me ? 

Estr. Locrine, 

Locrine ! 

Loc, Thou wouldst not ; do not mock me then. 
Saying out of evil heart, in evil jest. 
Thy trust is dead to meward. 

Estr, King of men. 

Wouldst thou, being only of all men lordliest, 
Be lord of women's thoughts and loving fears ? 
Nay, wert thou less than lord of worlds and years. 
Of stars and suns and seasons, could st thou dream 
To take such empire on thee ! 

Loc, Nay, not I — 

No more than she there playing beside the stream 
To slip within a stormier stream and die. 

Estr, She runs too near the brink. Sabrina ! 



40 LOCRINE. 

Zoc, See, 

Her hands are Jily-laden ; let them be 
A flower-sweet symbol for us. 

Enter Sabrina. 

Sabr, Sire ! Oh, sire, 

See what fresh flowers — you knew not these before — 
The spring has brought, to serve my heart's desire. 
Forth of the river's barren bed ! no more 
Will I rebuke these banks for sterile sloth 
When spring restores the woodlands. By my troth, 
I hoped not, when you came again, to bring 
So large a tribute worth so full a smile. 

Loc, Child ! how should I to thee pay tribute ? 

IJstr. King, 

Thou hast not Mssed her. 

Loc, Dare my lips defile 

Heaven ? Oh, my love, in sight of her and thee 
I marvel how the sun should look on me 
And spare to turn his beams to fire, 

Ustr. The child 

Hears, and is troubled. 

Sabr, Did I v^rong, to say 

* Sire' ? but you bade me say so. He is mild, 
And will not chide me. Father ! 

Ustr. Hear'st thou ? 

Loc. Yea — 

I hear. I would the world beyond our sight 
Were dead as worlds forgotten. 

Ustr, Wouldst thou fright 

Her? 

Loc, Hath all sense forsaken me ? Sabrine, 
Thou dost not fear me ? 

Sabr. No. But when your eyes 

Wax red and dark, with flaughts of fire between, 
I fear them — or they fright me. 

Loc, Wert thou wise, 

They would not. Never have I looked on thee 
So. 

Sabr, Nay — I fear not what may fall on me. 
Here laughs my father — here my mother smiles — 
Here smiles and laughs the water — what should I 
Fear? 

Loc, Nought more fearful than the water's wiles — 



LOCRINE. 41 

Which whoso fears not ere he fear shall die. 

Sabr. Die ? and is death no less an ill than dread ? 
I had liefer die than be nor quick nor dead. 
I think there is no death but fear of death. 

Loc. Of death or life or anything but love 
What knowest thou ? 

Sabr, Less than these, ray mother saith — 

Less than the flowers that seeing all heaven above 
Fade and wax, hoar or darken, lose their trust 
And leave their joy and let their glories rust 

And die for fear ere winter wound them : w^e j 

Live no less glad of snowtime than of spring; 
It cannot change my father's face for me, 
Nor turn from mine away my mother's. King 
They call thee; hath thy kingship made thee less 
In height of heart than we are ? 

Loc. No, and yes. 

Here sits my heart at height of hers and thine, 
Laughing for love : here not the quiring birds 
Sing higher than sings my spirit : I am here Locrine, 
Whom no sound vexes here of swords or words, 
No cloud of thought or thunder: were my life 
Crowned but as lord and sire of child and wife, 
Throned but as prince of woodland, bank and bower, 
My joys were then imperial, and my state 
Firm as a star, that now is as a flower. 

Sabr, Thou shouldst not then — if joy grow here so great — 
Part from us. 

Loc, No : for joy grows elsewhere scant. 

Sabr, I would fain see the towers of Troynovant. 

Loc, God keep thine eyes fulfilled with sweeter sights, 
And this one from them ever ! 

Sabr, Why ? Men say 

Thine halls are full of guests, princes and knights. 
And lordly musters of superb array ; 
Why are we thence alone, and alway ? 

Ustr, Peace, 

Child : let thy babble change its note, or cease 
Here : is thy sire not wiser — by God's grace — 
Than I or thou ? 

Loc, Wouldst thou too see fulfilled 

The fear whose shadow fallen on joy's fair face 
Strikes it more sad than sorrow's own ? Estrild, 
Wast thou then happier ere this wildwood shrine 



i2 LOCRINE. 

Hid thee from homage, left thee but Locrine 
For worshipper less worthy grace of thee 
Than those thy sometime suppliants ? 

^str. Nay ; my lord 

Takes too much thought- — if tongues ring true — for me* 

Loc, Such tongues ring falser than a broken chord 
Whose jar distunes the music. 

Ustr. Wilt thou stay 

But three nights here ? 

Loc. I had need be hence to-day. 

Ustr, Go. 

Sabr, But I bid thee tarry ; what am I 
That thou shouldst heed not what I bid thee ? 

Loc, Queen 

And empress more imperious and more high 
And regent royaller than time hath seen 
And mightier mistress of thy sire and thrall : 
Yet must I go. But ere the next moon fall 
Again will I grow happy. 

Ustr, Who can say ? 

Loc, So much can I — except the stars combine 
Unseasonably to stay me. 

LJstr, Let them stay 

The tides, the seasons rather. Love ! Locrine ! 
I never parted from thee, nor shall part. 
Save with a fire more keen than fire at heart : 
But now the pang that wrings me, soul and sense, 
And turns fair day to darkness deep as hell. 
Warns me, the word that seals thy parting hence — 
" Farewell " — shall bid us never more fare well. 

Sab7\ Lo ! she too bids thee tarry ; dost thou not hear ? 

Loc, Might I choose, small need were hers, God wot, 
Or thine, to bid me tarry. When I come 
Again — 

Sabr, Thou shalt not see me : I will hide 
From sight of such a sire— or bow down dumb 
Before him — strong and hard as he in pride — 
And so thou shalt not hear me. 

Loc, Who can tell ? 

So now say L 

LJstr, God keep my lord ! 

Loc, Farewell. [JSxeunt, 



LOCRlNE. 43 

Scene II. — Troynovant A Room in the Palace, 
Enter Guendolen and Madan. 

Guen. Come close, and look upon me. Child or man — 
I know not liow to call thee, being my child, 
Who knows not how myself am called, nor can — 
God witness — tell thee what should she be styled 
Who bears the brand and burden set on her 
That man hath set on me — the lands are wild 
Whence late I bade thee hither, swift of spur I 

As he that rides to guard his mother's life ; 
Thou hast found nought loathlier there, nought hatefuUer 
In all the wilds that seethe with fluctuant strife, 
Than here besets thine advent. Son, if thou 
Be son of mine, and I thy father's wife — 

Mad. If heaven be heaven, and God be God. 

Guen, As now 

We know not if they be. Give me thine hand. 
Thou hast mine eyes beneath thy father's brow, 
And therefore bears it not the traitor's brand. 
Swear — bat I would not bid thee swear in vain, 
Nor bind thee ere thine own soul understand, 
Ere thine own heart be molten with my pain. 
To do such work for bitter love of me 
As haply, knowing my heart, thou wert not fain, 
Even thou, to take upon thee, bind on thee. 
Set all thy soul to do or die. 

Mad. I swear. 

Guen. And though thou sworest not, yet the thing should be. 
The burden found for me so sore to bear 
Why should I lay on any hand but mine. 
Or bid thine own take part therein and wear 
A father's blood upon it, here, for sign ? 
Ay, now thou pluck' st it forth of hers to whom 
Thou sworest and gavest it plighted. Locrine, 
Thy seed it w^as that sprang within my womb. 
Thine, and none other — traitor born and liar. 
False-faced, false-tongued — the fire of hell consume 
Me, thee, and him forever ! 

Mad. Hath my sire 

Wronged thee ? 

Guen. Thy sire ? my lord ? the flower of men ? 

How ? 

Mad. For thy tongue was tipped but now with fire — 



U LOCKINE. 

With fire of hell — against him. 

Guen. Now, and then, 

Are twain ; thou knowest not women, how their tongue 
Takes fire, and straight learns patience : Guendolen 
Is there no more than crownless woman, wrung 
At heart with anguish, and in utterance raad 
As even the meanest whom a snake hath stung 
So near the heart that all the pulse it had 
Grows palpitating poison. Wilt thou know 
Whence ? 

Mad, Could I heal it, then mine own were glad. 

Guen. What think'st thou were the bitterest wrong, the woe 
Least bearable by woman, worst of all 
That man might lay upon her ? Nay, thou art slow : 
Speak: though thou speak but folly. Silent? Call 
To mind whatso thou hast ever heard of ill 
Most monstrous, that should turn to fire and gall 
The milk and blood of maid or mother — still 
Thou shalt not find, .1 think, what he hath done — 
What I endure, and die not. For my will 
It is that holds me yet alive, son, 
Till all my wrong be broken, here to keep 
Fast watch, a living soul before the sun 
Anhungered and athirst for night and sleep, 
That will not slake the ravin of her thirst, 
Nor quench her fire of hunger,' till she reap 
The harvest loved of all men, last as first — 
Vengeance. 

Mad. What wrong is this he hath done thee ? Words 
Are edgeless weapons ; live we blest or curst, 
No jot the more of evil or good engirds 
The life with bitterest curses compassed round 
Or girt about with blessing. Hinds and herds 
Wage threats and brawl and wrangle : wind and sound 
Suffice their souls for vengeance : we require 
Deeds, and till place for these and time be found 
Silence. What bids thee bid me slay my sire? 

Guen, I praise the gods that gave me thee ; thine heart 
Is none of his, no changeling's in desire. 
No coward's as who begat thee : mine thou art 
All, and mine only. Lend me now thine ear : 
Thou knowest — 

Mad, What anguish holds thy lips apart 

And strikes thee silent ? Am I bound to hear 



LOCRINE. 48 

What thou to speak art bound not ? 

Guen, How my lord, 

Our lord, thy sire — tlie king whose throne is here 
Imperial — smote and drove the wolf -like horde 
That raged against us from the raging east, 
And how their chief sank in the unsounded ford 
He thought to traverse, till the floods increased 
Against him, and he perished; and Locrine 
Found in his camp for sovereign spoil to feast 
The sense of power with lustier joy than wine 
A woman — Dost thou mock me ? 

Mady And a fair 

Woman if all men lie not, mother mine — 
I have heard so much. And then ? 

Guen, Thou dost not dare 

Mock me ? 

Mad, I know not what should make thee mad 
Though this and worse, howbeit it irk thee, were. 
Art thou discrowned, dethroned, disrobed, unclad 
Of empire ? art thou powerless, bloodless, old ? 
This were some hurt : but now — thou shouldst be glad 
To take this chance upon thee, and to hold 
So large a lordly happiness in hand 
As when my father's and thy lard's is cold 
Shall leave in thine the sway of all this land. 

Guen. And thou? no she-wolf whelps upon the wold 
Whose brood is like thy mother's. 

Mad. Nay, I stand 

A man thy son before thee. 

Guen. And a bold 

Man : is thine heart flesh, or a burning brand 
Lit to burn up and turn for thee to gold 
The kingship of thy sire ? 

Mad. Why, blessed or banned, 

We thrive alike — thou knowest it — why, but now 
I said so — scarce the glass has dropped one sand — 
And thou didst smile on me — and all thy brow 
Smiled. 

Guen. Thou dost love, then, thy mother yet — 
Me, dost thou love a little ? None but thou 
There is to love me ; for the gods forget — 
Nor shall one hear of me a prayer again ; 
Yea, none of all whose thrones in heaven are set 
Shall hear, nor one of all the sons of men. 



46 LOCRINE. 

Mad, What wouldst thou have ? 

Ouen, Thou knowest. 

Mad, I know not. Speak. 

Guen, Have I kept silence all this while ? 

Mad. What then? 

What boots it though thy word, thine eye, thy cheek, 
Seem all one fire together, if that fire 
Sink, and thy face change, and thine heart wax weak, 
To hear what deed should slake thy sore desire 
And satiate thee with healing ? This alone — 
Except thine heart be softer toward my sire 
Still than a maid's who hears a wood- dove moan 
And weeps for pity — this should comfort thee : 
His death. 

Guen, And sight Madan on his throne ? 

Mad, What ailed thy wits, mother, to send for rae ? 

Guen, Yet shalt thou not go back. 

Mad, Why, what should I 

Do here, where vengeance has not heart to be 
And wrath dies out in weeping ? Let it die — 
And let me go. 

Guen, I did not bid thee spare. 

Mad, Speak, then, and bid me smite. 

Guen, Thy father? 

Mad, Ay — 

If thus it please my mother. 

Guen, Dost thou dare 

This? 

Mad. Nay, T lust not after empire so 
That for mine own hand I should haply care 
To take this deed upon it ; but the blow. 
Thou sayest, that speeds my father forth of life. 
Speeds too my mother forth of living woe 
That till he dies may die not. If his wife 
Set in his son's right hand the sword to slay — 
No poison brewed of hell, no treasonous knife — 
The sword that walks and shines and smites by day. 
Not on his hand who takes the sword shall cleave 
The blood that clings on hers who gives it. 

Guen, Yea — 

So be it. What levies wilt thou raise, to heave 
Thy father from his seat ? 

Mad, Let that be nought 

Of all thy care: do thou but trust — believe 



LOCRINK 47 

Thy son's right hand no feebler than thy thought. 
If that be strong to smite — and thou shalt see 
Vengeance. 

Guen, I will. But were thy musters brought 
Whence now thou art come to cheer me, this should be 
A sign for us of comfort. 

Mad, Dost thou fear 

Signs? 

Guen. Nay, child, nay — thou art harsh as heaven to me — 
I would but have of thee a word of cheer. 

Mad, I am weak in words: my tongue can match not thine, 
Mother. 

[^Voices within.] The king! 

Guen. Hear'st thou ? 

[Voices within.] The king! 

Mad. I hear. 

Enter Locrine. 

Loc. How fares ray queen ? 

Guen. Well. And this child of mine — 

How he may fare concerns not thee to know? 

Loc. Why, well I see my boy fares well. 

Guen. Locrine, 

Thou art welcome as the sun to fields of snow. 

Loc. But hardly would they hail the sun whose face 
Dissolves them death ward. Was thy meaning so? 

Guen. Make answer for me Madan. 

Loc. In thy place ? 

The boy's is not beside thee. 

Guen. Speak, I say. 

Mad. God guard my lord and father with His grace ! 

Loc. Well prayed, my child. 

Guen. Children — who can but pray — 

Pray better, if my sense not err, than we. 
The God whom all the gods of heaven obey 
Should hear them rather, seeing — as gods may see — 
How pure of purpose is their perfect prayer. 

Loc. I think not else — the better then for me. 
But ours — what manner of child is this ? the hair 
Buds flowerwise round his darkening lips and chin, 
This hand's young hardening palm knows how to bear 
The sword-hilt's poise that late I laid therein — 
Ha? doth not it? 

Guen. Thine enemies know that well. 



48 LOCRINE. 

Mad, I make no boast of battles that have been ; 
But, so God help me, days unborn shall tell 
What manner of heart my father gave me. 

Loc. Good. 

I doubt thee not. 

Guen, In Cornwall they that fell 

So found it, that of all their large-limbed brood 
No bulk is left to brave thee. 

Loc, Yea, I know 

Our son hath given the wolf our foes for food 
And won him worthy praise from friend or foe : 
And heartier praise and trustier thanks from none, 
Boy, than thy father pays thee. 

Guen, Wouldst thou show 

Thy love, thy thanks, thy fatherhood in one. 
Thy perfect honor — yea, thy right to stand 
Crowned, and lift up thine eyes against the sun 
As one so pure in heart, so clean of hand. 
So loyal and so royal, none might cast 
A wx)rd against thee burning like a brand, 
A sound that withers honor, and makes fast 
The bondage of a recreant soul to shame — 
Thou shouldst, or ever an hour be overpast, 
Slay him. 

Loc, Thou art mad. 

Guen, What, is not then thy name 

Locrine ? and hath this boy done ill to thee? 
Hath he not won him for thy love's sake fame? 
Hath he not served thee loyally ? is he 
So much thy son, so little son of mine. 
That men might call him traitor? May they see 
The brand across his brow that reddens thine ? 
How shoaldst thou dare — how dream — to let him live ? 
Is he not loyal ? art not thou Locrine ? 
What less than death for guerdon shouldst thou give 
My son who hath done thee service ? Me thou hast given- 
Who hast found me truer than falsehood can forgive — 
Shame for my guerdon : yea, my heart is riven 
With shame that once I loved thee. 

Loc, Guendolen, 

A woman's wrath should rest not unforgiven 
Save of the slightest of the sons of men : 
And no such slight and shameful thing am I 
As would not yield thee pardon. 



LOCRINE. 49 

Guen, Slay me, then. 

Loc, Thee, or thy son ? but now thou bad'st him die. 

Guen. Thou liest : I bade thee slay him. 

Loc, Art thou mad 

Indeed ? 

Guen, liar, is all the world a lie ? 
I bade thee, knowing thee what thou art — I bade 
My lord and king and traitor slay my son — 
A heartless hand that lacks the power it had 
Smite one whose stroke shall leave it strengthless — one 
Whose loyal loathing of his shame in thee 
Shall cast it out of eyeshot of the sun. 

Log. Thou bad'st me slay him that he might — he, slay me ? 

Guen, Thou hast said — and yet thou hast lied not. 

Log, Hell's own hate 
Brought never forth such fruit as thine. 

Guen. But he 

Is the issue of thy love and mine, by fate 
Made one to no good issue. Didst thou trust 
That grief should give to men disconsolate 
Comfort, and treason bring forth truth, and dust 
Blossom ? What love, what reverence, what regard, 
Shouldst thou desire, if God or mjin be just, 
Of this thy son, or me more evil-starred. 
Whom scorn salutes his mother ? 

Log. How should scorn 

Draw near thee, girt about with power for guard. 
Power and good fame ? unless reproach be born 
Of these thy violent vanities of mood 
That fight against thine honor. 

Guen. Dost thou mourn 

For that ? Too careful art thou for my good, 
Too tender and too true to me and mine, . 
For shame to make my heail or thine his food 
Or scorn lay hold upon my fame or thine. 
Art thou not pure as honor's perfect heart — 
Not treason-cankered like my lord Locrine, 
Whose likeness shows thee fairer than thou art 
And falser than thy loving care of me 
Would bid my faith believe thee ? 

Log. What strange part 

Is this that changing passion plays in thee ? 
Know'st thou me not ? 

Guen, Yea — witness heaven and hell, 



60 LOCRINE. 

And all the lights that lighten earth and sea, 
And all that wrings my heart, I know thee well. 
How should I love and hate and know thee not ? 

Loc, Thy voice is as the sound of dead love's knell, 

Guen, Long since my heart has tolled it — and forgot 
All save the cause that bade the death-bell sound 
And cease and bring forth silence. 

Loc, Is thy lot 

Less fair and royal, girt with power and crowned, 
Than might fulfil the loftiest heart's desire ? 

Guen, Not air but fire it is that rings me round — 
Thy voice makes all my brain a wheel of fire. 
Man, what have I to do with pride of power ? 
Such pride perchance it was that moved my sire 
To bid me wed — woe worth the woful hour ! — 
His brother's son, the brother's born above 
Him as above me thou, the crown and flower 
Of Britain, gentler-hearted than the dove 
And mightier than the sunward eagle's wing : 
But nought moved me save one thing only — love. 

Loc, I know it. 

Guen, Thou knowest? but this thou knowest not, king, 
How near of kin are bitter love and hate — 
Nor which of these may be the deadlier thing. 

Loc, What wouldst thou ? 

Guen, Death. Would God my heart were great 1 

Then would I slay myself. 

Loc, I dare not fear 

That heaven hath marked for thee no fairer fate. 

Guen, Ay ! wilt thou slay me, then— and slay me here? 

Loc, Mock not thy wrath and me. No hair of thine 
Would I — thou knowest it — hurt ; nor vex thine ear 
With answering wrath more vain than fumes of wine. 
I have wronged and yet not wronged thee. Whence or when 
Strange whispers rose that turned thy heart from mine 
I would not know for shame's sake, Guendolen, 
And honors that I bear thee. 

Guen, Didst thou deem 

I would outlive with thee the scorn of men, 
A slave enthroned beside a traitor ? Seem 
These eyes and lips and hands of mine a slave's 
Uplift for mercy toward thee? Such a dream 
Sets realms on fire, and turns their fields to graves. 

Loc, No dream is mine that does thee less than right : 



LOCRINE. Si 

Albeit thy words be wild as warring waves, 

I know thee higher of heart than shame could smite 

And queenlier than thy queenship. 

Guen, Dost thou know 

What day records to day and night to night — 
How he whose wrath was rained as hail or snow 
On Troy's adulterous towers, when treacherous flame 
Devoured them, and our fathers' roofs lay low, 
And all their praise was turned to fire and shame — 
All-righteous God, who herds the stars of heaven 
As sheep within his sheepfold — God, whose name 
Compels the wandering clouds to service, given 
As surely as even the sun's is — loves or hates 
Treason ? He loved our sires ; were they forgiven ? 
Their walls upreared of gods, their sevenfold gates, 
Might these keep out his justice ? What art thou 
To make thy will more strong and sure than fate's? 
Thy fate am I, that falls upon thee now. 
Wilt thou not slay me yet — and slay thy son? 
So shall thy fate change, and unbend the brow 
That now looks mortal on thee. 

Loc, What is done 

Lies now past help or pleading : nor would I 
Plead with thee, knowing that love henceforth is none 
Nor trust between us till the day we die. 
Yet, if thy name be woman — if thine heart 
Be not burnt up with fire of hell, and lie 
Not wounded even to death — albeit we part, 
Let there not be between us war, but peace, 
Though love may be not. * 

Guen, Peace ? The man thou art 

Craves — and shame bids not breath within him cease — 
Craves of the woman that thou knowest I am. 
Peace ? Ay, take hands at parting, and release 
Each heart, each hand, each other: shall the lamb, 
The lamb-like woman, born to cower and bleed. 
Withstand his will whose choice may save or damn 
Her days and nights, her word and thought and deed — 
Take heart to outdare her lord the lion ? How 
Should this be — if the lion's imperial seed 
Lift not against his sire as brave a brow 
As frowns upon his mother ? — Peace be then 
Between us : none may stand before thee now : 
No son ot thine keep faith with Guendolen, 



52 LOCRINE. 

Mad, I have held my peace perforce, it seems, too long, 
Being slower of speech than sons of meaner men. 
But seeing my sire hath done my mother wrong, 
My hand is hers to serve against my sire. 

Guen, And God shall make thine hand against him strong. 

Loc, Ay : when the hearthstead flames, the roof takes fire. 

Guen, Woe worth his hand who set the hearth on flame ! 

Loc, Curse not our fathers ; though thy fierce desire 
Drive thine own son against his father, shame 
Should rein thy tongue from speech too shameless. 

Guen, Ay ! 

And thou, my holy-hearted lord — the same 
Whose hand was laid in mine and bound to lie 
There fast forever if faith be found on earth — 
If truth be true, and shame not wholly die — 
Hast thou not made thy mockery and thy mirth, 
Thy laughter and thy scorn, of shame ? But we, 
Thy wife by wedlock and thy son by birth. 
Who have no part in spirit and soul with thee, 
Will bear no part in kingdom nor in life 
With one who hath put to shame his child and me. 
Thy true-born son, and I that was thy wife, 
Will see thee dead or perish. Call thy men 
About thee ; bid them gird their loins for strife 
More dire than theirs who storm the wild wolfs den ; 
For if thou dare not slay us here to-day 
Thou art dead. 

Loc, Thou knowest I dare not, Guendolen, 

Dare what the ravenous beasts whose life is prey 
Dream not of doing, though drunk with bloodshed. 

Guen, No : 

Thou art gentle, and beasts are honest. No such way 
Lies open toward thy fearful foot : not so 
Shalt thou find surety from these foes of thine. 
Woe worth thee therefore ! yea, a sevenfold woe 
Shall God through us rain down on thee, Locrine. 
Hadst thou the heart God hath not given thee — then 
Our blood might run before thy feet like wine 
And wash thy way toward sin in sight of men 
Smooth, soft, and safe. But if thou shed it not — 
If Madan live to look on Guendolen 
Living — I wot not what shall be — I wof 
What shall not — thou shalt have no joy to live 
More than have they for whom God's wrath grows hot. 



LOCRINE. 53 

Loc, God's grace is no such gift as thou canst give, 
Queen, or withhold. Farewell. 

Ouen. I dare not say 

Farewell. 

Loc And why ? 

Guen, Thou hast not said — Forgive. 

Loc, I say it — I have said. Thou wilt not hear me ? 

Guen. Nay. 

\Exeunt, 

ACT V. 

Scene I. — Fields near the Severn. 

Enter on one side Locrine and his army: on the other side 
GuENDOLEN, Madan, and their army. 

Loc, Stand fast and sound a parley. 

Mad, Halt : it seems 

They would have rather speech than strokes of us. 

Loc, This light of dawn is like an evil dream's 
That comes and goes and is not. Yea, and thus 
Our hope on both sides wavering dares allow 
No light but fire to bid us die or live. 

— Son, and my wife that was, my rebels now, ^ 

That here we stand with death to take or give. 
I call the sun of heaven, God's likeness wrought 
On darkness, whence all spirits breathe and shine, 
To witness, is no will of work or thought 
Conceived or bred in brain or heart of mine. 
Ye have levied wars against me, and compelled 
My will unwilling and my power withheld 
To strike the stroke I would not, when I might. 
Will ye not yet take thought, and spare these men 
Whom else the blind and burning fire of fight 
Must feed upon for pasture ? Guendolen, 

Had I not left thee queen in Troynovant, / 

Though wife no more of mine, in all this land 
No hand had risen, no eye had glared askant. 
Against me : thine is each man's heart and hand 
That burns and strikes in all this battle raised 
To serve and slake thy vengeance. With my son 
I plead not, seeing his praise in arras dispraised 
For ever, and his deeds of truth undone 
By patricidal treason. But with thee 



64 LOCRINE. 

Peace would I have, if peace again may be 
Between us. " Blood by wrath unnatural shed 
Or spent in civic battle burns the land 
Whereon it falls like fire, and brands as red 
The conqueror's forehead as the warrior's hand. 
I pray thee, spare this people ; reign in peace 
With separate honors in a several state : 
As love that was hath ceased, let hatred cease : 
Let not our personal cause be made the fate 
That damns to death men innocent, and turns 
The joy of life to darkness. Thine alone 
Is all this war : to slake the flame that burns 
Thus high should crown thee royal, and enthrone 
Thy praise in all men's memories. If thou wilt, 
Peace let there be : if not, be thine the guilt. 

Ouen, Mine ? Hear it, heaven — and me, bear witness ! Mine, 
The treachery that hath rent our realm in twain — 
Mine, mine the adulterous treason. Not Locfihe, 
Not he, found loyal to my love in vain. 
Hath brought the civic sword and fire of strife. 
On British fields and homesteads, clothed with joy, 
Crowned with content and comfort : I, his wife, 
Have brought on Troynovant the fires of Troy. 
Se lifts his head before the sun of heaven 
And swears it — lies, and lives. Is God's bright sword 
Broken, wherewith the gates of Troy — the seven 
Strong gates that gods who built them held in ward — 
Were broken even as wattled reeds with fire ? 
Son, by what name shall honor call thy sire ? 

Mad, How long shall I and all these mail-clad men 
Stand and give ear, or gape and catch at flies. 
While ye wage warring words that wound not. When 
Have I been found of you so wordy-wise 
That thou or he should call to counsel one 
So slow of speech and wit as thou and he. 
Who know my hand no sluggard, know your son? 
Till speech be clothed in iron, bid not me 
Speak. 

Loc. Yet he speaks not ill. 

Guen, Did I not know 

Mine honor perfect as thy shame, Locrine, 
Now might I say, and turn to pride my woe. 
Mine only were this boy, and none of thine. 
But what thou mayest I may not. Where are they 



LOCRINE. m 

Who ride not with tlieir lord and sire to-day ? 

Thy secret Scythian and your changeiing child, 

"Where hide they now their heads that kirk not hidden 

There where thy treason deemed them safe, and smiled ? 

When arms were levied, and thy servants bidden 

About thee to withstand the doom of men 

Whose loyal angers flamed upon our side 

Against thee, from thy smooth-skinned she-wolfs den 

Her whelp and she sought covert unespied, 

But not from thee far off. Thou hast borne them hither 

For refuge in this west that stands for thee 

Against our cause, whose very name should wither ' 

The hearts of them that hate it. Where is she ? 

Hath she not heart to keep thy side ? or thou. 

Dost thou think shame to stand beside her now 

And bid her look upon thy son and wife ? 

Nay, she should ride at thy right hand and laugh 

To see so fair a lordly field of strife 

Shine for her sake, whose lips thy love bids quaff 

For pledge of trustless troth the blood of men, 

Loc. Should I not put her in thine hand to slay ? 
Hell hath laid hold upon thee, Guendolen, 
And turned thine heart to hell fire. Be thy prey 
Thyself, the wolfish huntress : and the blood 
Eest on thine head that here shall now be spilt. 

Guen. Let it run broader than this water's flood 
Swells after storm, it shall not cleanse thy guilt. 
Give now the word of charge ; and God do right 
Between us in the fiery courts of fight. [Uxeunti 

Scene II. — The banks of the Severn, 
Enter Estrild and Sabrina. 

Sabr, When will my father come again ? 

Ustr, God knows, 

Sweet. 

Sabr, Hast thou seen how wide this water flows — 
How smooth it swells and shines from brim to brim, 
How fair, how full? Nay, then thine eyes are dim. 
Thou dost not weep for fear lest evil men 
Or that more evil woman — Guendolen 
Didst thou not call her yesternight by name ? 
Should put my father's might in arms to shame? 
What is she so to levy shameful strife 
Against my sire and thee ? 



m LOCRINE). 

£Jstr. His wife ! his wife ! 

Sabr. Why, that art thoift 

Ustr, Woe worth me ! ' 

Sabr. Nay, woe worth 

Her wickedness ! How may the heavens and earth 
Endure her? 

Ustr, Heaven is fire, and earth a sword, 

Against us. 

Sabr. May the wife withstand her lord 
And war upon him ? Nay, no wife is she— 
And no true mother thou to mock at me. 

Ustr, Yea, no true wife or mother, child, am I. 
Yet, child, thou shouldst not say it — and bid me die. 

Sabr, I bid thee live and laugh at wicked foes 
Even as my sire and I do. What ! " God knows," 
Thou say est, and yet art fearful ? Is he not 
Righteous, that we should fear to take the lot 
Forth of his hand that deals it ? And my sire, 
Kind as the sun in heaven, and strong as fire, 
Hath he not God upon his side and ours, 
Even all the gods and stars and all their powers ? 

Ustr. I know not. Fate at sight of thee should break 
His covenant — doom grow gentle for thy sake. 

Sabr. Wherefore? 

JEJstr. Because thou knowest not wherefore. Child, 

My days were darkened, and the ways were wild 
Wherethrough my dark doom led me toward this end. 
Ere I beheld thy sire, my lord, my friend. 
My king, my stay, my saviour. Let thine hand 
Lie still in mine. Thou canst not understand, 
Yet would I tell thee somewhat. Ere I knew 
If aught of evil or good were false or true, 
If aught of life were worth our hope or fear. 
There fell on me the fate that sets us here. 
For in my father's kingdom over sea— 
Sabr. Thou wast not born in Britain ? 

Ustr. Woe is me. 

No : happier hap had mine perchance been then. 

Sabr. And was not I? Are these all stranger men? 
Ustr. Ay, wast thou, child — a Briton born : God give 
Thy name the grace on British tongues to live ? 
Sabr. Is that so good a gift of God's — to die 
And leave a name alive in memory ? I 
Would rather live this river's life, and be 



LOCRINE. 67 

Held of no less or more account than he. 

Lo, how he lives and laughs ! and hath no name, 

Thou sayest — or one forgotten even of fame 

That lives on poor men's lips and falters down 

To nothing. But thy father? and his crown? 

Did he less hate the coil of it than mine, 

Or love thee less — nay, then he were not thine — 

Than he, my sire, loves me? 

Estr, And wilt thou hear 

All ? Child, my child, love born of love, more dear 
Than very love was ever ! Hearken then. ; 

This plague, this fire, that hunts us — Guendolen — 
Was wedded to thy sire ere I and he 
Cast ever eyes on either. Woe is me ! 
Thou canst not dream, sweet, what my soul would say 
And not affright thee. 

Sahr, Thou affright me ? Nay, 

Mock not. This evil woman — when he knew 
Thee, this my sweet good mother, wise and true- 
He cast from him and hated. 

Estr, Yea — and now 

For that shall haply he and I and thou 
Die. 

Sahr, What is death ? I never saw his face 
That I should hate it. 

Estr, Whether grief or grace 

Or curse or blessing breathe from it, and give 
Aught worse or better than the life we live, 
I know no more than thou knowest; perchance, 
Less. When we sleep, they say, or fall in trance, 
We die awhile. Well spake thine innocent breath— 
I think there is no death but fear of death. 

Sahr, Did I say this? But that was long ago — 
Months. Now I know not — yet I think I know — 
Whether I fear or fear not it. Hard by 
Men fight even now — they strike and kill and die 
Red-handed; nay, we hear the roar and see 
The lightning of the battle ; can it be 
That what no soul of all these brave men fears 
Should sound so fearful save in foolish ears ? 
But all this while I know not where it lay. 
Thy father's kingdom. 

Estr, Far from here away 

It lies beyond the wide waste water's bound 




m LOCMNE. 

That clasps with bitter waves this sweet land round, 
hou hast seen the great sea never, nor canst dream 
How fairer far than earth's most lordly stream 
It rolls its royal waters here and there, 
Most glorious born of all things anywhere. 
Most fateful and most godlike ; fit to make 
Men love life better for the sweet sight's sake 
And less fear death if death for them should be 
Shrined in the sacred splendors of the sea 
As God in heaven's mid mystery. Night and day 
Forth of my tower-girt homestead would I stray 
To gaze thereon as thou upon the bright 
Soft river whence thy soul took less delight 
Than mine of the outer sea, albeit I know 
How great thy joy was of it. Now — for so 
The high gods willed it should be — once at morn 
Strange men there landing bore me thence forlorn 
Across the wan wild waters in their bark, 
I wist not where, through change of light and dark, 
Till their fierce lord, the son of spoil and strife, 
Made me by forceful marriage rites his wife. 
Then sailed they toward the white and flower-sweet strand 
Whose free folk follow on thy father's hand, 
And warring against him, slaying his brother : and he 
Hurled all their force back hurtling toward the sea, 
And slew my lord their king; but me he gave 
Grace, and received not as a wandering slave, 
But one whom seeing he loved for pity : why * 

Should else a sad strange woman such as I 
Find in his fair sight favor? and for me 
He built the bower wherein I bare him thee. 
And whence but now he hath brought us westward, here 
To abide the extreme of utmost hope or fear. 
And come what end may ever, death or life, 
I live or die, if truth be truth, his wife ; 
And none but I and thou, though day wax dim, 
Though night grow strong, hath any part in him. 

Sabr, What should we fear, then ? whence might any fear 
Fall on us ? 

JSstr, Ah! Ah me! God answers here. 
Enter Locrine, wounded. 

Loc, Praised be the gods who have brought me safe — ^to die 
Beside thee. Nay, but kneel not — rise, and fly 
Ere death take hold on thee too. Bid the child 



LOCRINE. 59 

Kiss me. The ways all round are wide and wild — 
Ye may win safe away. They deemed me dead — 
My last friends left — who saw me fallen and fled. 
No shame is theirs — ^they fought to the end. But ye, 
Fly : not your love can keep my life in me — 
Not even the sight and sense of you so near. 

Sahr, How can we fly, father? 

Estr, She would not fear — 

Thy very child is she — no heart less high 
Than thine sustains her — and we will not fly. 

Loc, So shall their work be perfect. Yea, I know 
Our fate is fallen upon us, and its woe. 
Yet have we lacked not gladness — and this end 
Is not so hard. We have had sweet life to friend, 
And find not death our enemy. All men born 
Die, and but few find evening one with morn 
As I do, seeing the sun of all my life 
Lighten my death in sight of child and wife. 
I would not live again to lose that kiss. 
And die some death not half so sweet as this, [Dies, 

Estr, Thou thought' st to cleave in twain my life and thine ? 
To cast my hand away in death, Locrine ? 
See now if death have drawn thee far from me ! \^Stahs herself. 

Sabr. Thou diest, and hast not slain me, mother? 

Ustr. Thee ? 

Forgive me, child ! and so may they forgive. [Dies. 

Sabr. mother, canst thou die and bid me live? 
Enter Guendolen, Madan, and Soldiers. 

Guen, Dead ? Ah ! my traitor with his harlot fled 
Hell ward ? 

Mad. Their child is left thee. 

Gnen. She ! not dead ? 

Sabr. Thou hast slain my mother and sire — thou hast slain thy 
lord — 
Strike now, and slay me. 

Guen. Smite her with thy sword. 

Mad. I know not if I dare. I dare not. 

Guen. Shame 

Consume thee ! — Thou — what call they, girl, thy name ? 
Daughter of Estrild — daughter of Locrine — 
Daughter of death and darkness ! 

Sabr. Yet not thine. 

Darkness and death are come on us, and thou, 
Whose servants are they : heaven behind thee now 



60 LOCRIlSrE. 

Stands, and withholds the thunder ; yet on me 
He gives thee not, who helps and comforts thee, 
Power for one hour of darkness. Ere thine hand 
Can put forth power to slay me where I stand 
Safe shall I sleep as these that here lie slain. 

Guen, She dares not — though the heart in her be fain, 
The flesh draws back for fear. She dares not. 

Sahr, See ! 

I change no more of warring words with thee. 

father, O my motoer, here am I : 

They hurt me not" who can but bid me die. 

[She leaps into the river, 

Guen, Save her ! God pardon me ! 

Mad. The water whirls 

Down out of sight her tender face, and hurls 
Her soft light limbs to deathward. God forgive — 
Thee, say est thou, mother? Wouldst thou bid her live? 

Guen. What have we done ? 

Mad, The work we came to do. 

That God, thou said'st, should stand for judge of you 
Whose judgment smote with mortal fire and sword 
Troy, for such cause as bade thee slay thy lord. 
Now, as between his fathers and their foes 
The lord of gods dealt judgment, winged with woes 
And girt about with ruin, hath he sent 
On these destruction. 

Guen, Yea. 

Mad, Art thou content ? 

Guen, The gods are wise who lead us — now to smite, 
And now to spare : we dwell but in their sight 
And work but what their will is. What hath been 
Is past. But these, that once were king and queen, 
The sun, that feeds on death, shall not consume 
Naked. Not I would sunder tomb from tomb 
Of these twain foes of mine, in death made one — 
I, that when darkness hides me from the sun 
Shall sleep alone, with none to rest by me. 
But thou — this one time more I look on thee — 
Fair face, brave hand, weak heart that was not mine — 
Sleep sound — and God be good to thee, Locrine. 

1 was not. She was fair as heaven in spring 

Whom thou didst love indeed. Sleep, queen and king. 

Forgiven ; and if — God knows — ^being dead, ye live. 

And keep remembrance yet of me — forgive. [Exeunt, 



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